


if you would be so kind

by Steele_and_Bones



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dimension Travel, Gen, Lies, Power of Words, Suspicions, power of belief
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27884485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steele_and_Bones/pseuds/Steele_and_Bones
Summary: White kingdom, white lies. A human finds herself displaced in a faraway world, so she does her best to help the scared people the only way she knows how: lying.It goes a lot further than she expected.Inspired by “Hoops, String, and other Placebos” by BubbleBtch.
Comments: 32
Kudos: 67





	1. What’s the Nicest Way to Say

Getting hot in such a mild place is very annoying. Cori’s gonna need to take a breather after she finishes getting these materials to the next guy. They’re not as heavy as yesterday’s shipment, though, which is a welcome relief.

She feels a few glittering eyes on her as she walks through the dirt roads in between squat little houses made of shellwood. The looks have died down since she got here—at first she thought it was because of her height, which is slightly taller than most of the bugs in this tiny little village. Turns out, being human, she’s quite a bit stronger than any bug here. And that landed her a job pretty quick transporting feed for the farmers in this place, for the mosscreeps they raise.

Cori never thought she would somehow end up in an underground kingdom of mask-wearing bugs. But she’s here now. And she’s got the mask and a dark cloak, shirt, pants, and boots to make her blend in at least a little.

She approaches the long, low house where the farmer raises his mosscreeps, with a large, coarse bag slung over her shoulders. He’s waiting outside, under a makeshift awning made of some bad-quality medal. He trades her meat from his livestock in exchange for the shipment of the food, which would take a day’s cart transport if not for her innate strength.

He doesn’t question why she wears such amounts of fabric, and in such dark shades that make her look like a walking shadow. And she doesn’t question why some of his children resemble a local woman with a shiny shell more than his wife.

He nods at her as she slings the bag over her shoulder setting it in the dusty dirt with a slight “oof.”

“Thanks,” he says. “Shipments’re getting awfully scarce. Good to have a strong bug like you here.” Cori nods. She’s not quite....comfortable with talking to some of the adult bugs. Her strange mannerisms and words from her own....world? Home? Well they come across as strange or even mildly insane to some. She’s gotten enough awkward paused in conversation to know.

She’s better with the children, or the hatchlings, as the locals call them.

“Miss! Miss Talesinger!”

She perks up at the sound of a child’s voice. Speaking of which.

A tiny bug who barely comes up to her waist skittles up to her, tugging onto the folds of her blue cloak. She’s followed by a few others, low light reflecting off their tiny soft shells and their antennae bouncing.

“Do you have another part of the story for us? The story about Ymir? Please, Miss?” They swarm around her legs, pulling at the edges where her dark pants are touched into some solid boots she managed to stitch together herself.

She grins under the bone-white mask. “Sure thing. But first, how’s about you help your father unload some stuff?” The kids nod furiously, swarming the feed bags and earning Cori a thankful look from the farmer. They rush to take the food to the pens, and she prepares the latest chapter of her story.

It’s an old one that’s like a mishmash of Arthurian legend and some other Disney movies. And best of all, the story is Cori’s own. It started out when she was in high school, as a random daydream to entertain herself while she was in classes.

But now, in this tiny farming village in the Fungal Wastes, she filled her days by doing mindless manual work, and that gives her more time to think of her stories while she’s here. And since she’s gotten popular with the kids, it’s earned her the name Talesinger, since she has a tendency to act out her scenes.

“Doesn’t your voice ever get tired, Talesinger?” A passerby laughs as he takes a seat in his stall, with shiny trinkets hanging off of it. “Is your strength endless? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you hailed from Deepnest! But you’re far too cultured for such a notion.” She chuckles once, but nothing more. The presence of animals so different from her still sets her on edge—and even more so when they have the same opinion of her.

Ah, well. At least she has the kids.

She settles off against a wall, pushing her cloak out from behind her. The kids totter to her, giggling as they settle against the floor. A moment of silence settles as she gathers her breath and her thoughts, and sets into the story.

“Now, where were we?” Cori says, smiling. “I think we’d just gotten to Inferne—“

“Miss!” One of the hatchlings squeaks. “Can you tell some of the whole beginning? Mauwka just got back from a big trip! She hasn’t heard any of the story yet!”

“Yeah!” And other chimes in. “She had to go to a funnel!”

The moment the child says it, she interprets his misspeaking. Her heart sinks.

“Funeral,” a small, quiet voice says. A tiny bug with a russet-red shell sits at the edge of the huddle, with her mask tilted to the ground. “It’s called a funeral.” She whispers. “It’s when you go to bury dead people.”

Cori lets out a breath. A heavy, awkward silence settles over the tiny group. Death. It’s something children don’t exactly understand.

But the little larva isn’t done talking. She says one more thing.

“Mama said the dreams got her.”

The kids shiver. Cori doesn’t exactly know what it is, but there is word of a disease in the kingdom. Has been since she arrived in this village, half starving and scared out of her mind. They say the sickness travels in dreams and drives it’s victims insane—there’s never been any in this village, though. Other than a few animals that the farmers have had to dispose of.

The people hardly ever sleep. She’s seen it. The way they move sluggishly and look at their beds and homes as if they’re— scared.  Scared of doing something so natural, so necessary. It takes the worst toll on the children. Making them snappy and clingy and prone to crying or fighting with each other. She feels like her being the Talesinger has become almost necessary to the parents. They give her looks of relief and quiet thanks and some extra wares from time to time. They even gave her a ramshackle little house at the edge of the village, where the mushrooms start to grow. She fills their heads with the story of a warrior going on adventures, and gives their parents more time to work and rest without their grumpy children on their hands.

A grip of pain suddenly seizes her heart. They’re just kids. They deserve to play and not lose people, they deserve to learn about death, but not before they’re ready. They’re so fundamentally different from her, since she’s soft and warm and they’re hard and cold, but the mind of a child stays the same.

And she wants to protect them, to distract them from the superstition that has a grip on this town. And this isn’t something, Cori knows, a story can accomplish. She searches her mind—what can she do? What can she give these hat hiking s to rest their fearing dreams?

Then, an idea hits.

“Alright then,” Cori says. She grabs a round pebble off the ground, her other hand rustling around the pockets in her pants for some red thread that she’s used to repair her clothes. “Let me explain the story. Once, in a world called Avalon, there was a child named Ymir.....and she wanted to create a place where she could be happy forever, with her friends. But Avalon was ruled by a powerful line of Lords called the Lords of Dusk, and they would never let another nation be made....”

As the tale is woven, Cori knots red sewing thread over the pebble, looping it around in different directions and tying it safely in the middle. The children listened with glittering eyes.

“And now, injured and alone, Ymir has been chased to a faraway mountain by the Dusk Champion. She stumbled into a cave, an arrow buried deep in her sho-er, shell. Her nail was knocked from her hand a while ago. And she finds a white door set in the stone. With nothing let to lose, Ymir opened the door—“ Cori finishes the last knot on her genius little invention, “and emerged into another world....the world called....Inferne....and that’s as far in the story as I’ve gotten. You’ll have to wait to tomorrow to hear the next part.”

The hatchlings give a collective groan, begging for the next segment of the story. But one pipes up with a different question. “Miss Talesinger? What’s that thing in your hand?” He tips his head, eyeing the trinket confusedly. 

Cori grins under her mask. “Oh, this?” She lifts it up, showing them the tiny pebble wrapped in red thread. “This is just a little thing I can make. It’s a very special, magic token, that can protect you from dreams.”

“Really?” The kids ooh and aah, drawing closer.

“Yep!” She says. “Here, you can have this one!” She hands it to Iwri, who clutches it and stares at it like a precious gem. The kids crowd up close to her.

“Can I have one?” “Me too!” “Can you make more?”

Cori laughs, gently setting one of the kids from her lap to the ground as she shifts positions. “I can make as many as you like.”

And for the rest of the short, underground day, Cori knots dry grass around flats circular pebbles. She adds leaves and bits of shellwood that the kids bring her. Though, she feels a little guilty, for lying.

But what’s the harm a little white lie can do?


	2. Dream No More

The next day is quiet, in the beginning. When she went down to her normal pick-up area, the supplier was there, and let her know that another order hadn’t been placed yet. And when she talked to the farmer about it, he said he had enough feed and that she could take the day off. He gave her some meat from his livestock as compensation for her work, though, which is a relief.

Bugs don’t seem to eat as much as humans, so there isn’t as much food just lying around. Or water, for that matter. And now that Cori’s taken up a job that’s basically just manual labor, her stomach always feels hollow and shriveled, and her mouth and nose are always dry. Her muscles ache as she swings the rickety door closed behind her, clutching a leaf-wrapped package of meat. Mosscreep meat doesn’t taste the best, but it’s better than nothing.

She sets it down on a dusty counter before flipping her hood down. Her hair, which is just a little shorter than shoulder length, stays tucked behind her hood. A fabric face mask that she painstakingly fashioned covers her mouth, nose, and part of the back of her head so that even bugs who can see into the shadowy folds of her cloak will be met with darkness. Thank god she took up sewing as an after school activity when she was younger.

Next, she pries off her white mask and slips down the thin black fabric one that lays her neck. It’s hard to breathe through that, but she’s getting used to it. In a minute, she’ll put it back on and go outside to light a small fire, and do her best to cook the mosscreep meat. The rundown shack she’s staying in is far enough away from other houses that they won’t see the smoke.

Cori’s just about to start unwrapping her food, when there’s a soft, almost hesitant knock on her door.

She freezes, eyes widening and hand hovering over the package. Who the hell could be out here? And why? Maybe the farmer did get his shipment and he wants her to go and get it?

Cori takes a deep gulp of air, and slips her double mask back on. She throws up her hood just before yanking open the door.

And what’s there surprises her. It’s a stout bug with a dull, red shell. The very bug who she’s earlier suspected the farmer’s infidelity with—but that’s not the point! The woman-bug stands anxiously in Cori’s doorway, fidgeting with her claws.

“Are-“ the woman says quietly, not meeting her eyes. “Are you the....Talesinger?”

Cori blinks. “Uh...yes. How can I help you?”

“Is it true you can make things that guard against the infection?” She says. She sounds like she’s keeping her voice low on purpose, like.....like she doesn’t want anyone to hear.

“Y....yes?” Cori answers. Is she mad at her? She knows this bug is the mother (officially) of one of the children who listens to her stories. Is she upset that Cori lied, and is here to confront her? That’s not exactly the social norm here. If you have a problem with someone, you keep it to yourself. Which....doesn’t really sit well with her, since she’s the type to cause a scene if someone pisses her off. But for the sake of maintaining good relations with the people who she depends on.....she’ll keep it polite.

The bug looks from side to side, as if she’s making sure no one’s watching. “I would....” she says quietly, “like to request one of your guarding tokens, Talesinger. To protect myself and my loved ones from their dreams.”

Oh. Well, that was unexpected. The thing she said was meant to put some children’s mind to rest. But Cori can tell just by the way the woman’s acting that she’s being sincere.

So, not knowing what to do, Cori moves aside and gestures to the embarrassingly rundown interior of her home. “Of course. Come in.”

The woman walks in, silently looking around. Suddenly, she’s aware of how unkempt her temporary home is. Is it even temporary anymore? Still, the dirtiness makes her cheeks flush, which, thankfully, the bug can’t see.

But what can she use to make the token? She doesn’t have very much in terms of belongings, except for some shiny rocks and crystals lined up on her windowsill. And some spools of red, black, and navy blue thread that she used to make the clothes she wears.

She eyes a particularly rectangular rock on her window, before snatching it and her navy blue thread.

The woman stands uncomfortably in the middle of the room, segmented hands folded neatly on her waist. Cori grimaces. She really doesn’t know what she’s doing, at all.

But something in the woman’s expression, the obvious sag of exhaustion on her shoulders, most likely from not sleeping.....it makes her feel some strange form of pity, or maybe it’s just usual sympathy. She can’t imagine being so afraid of something so natural. If this will put their minds to ease, she’ll do it. It won’t hurt anybody. Just like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, something to help you sleep at night.

Literally.

So Cori leans against the wall and wraps the navy blue thread around the rectangular pebble, once long-ways and one short-ways, like a Christmas present. It looks awfully plain, making her wish she had a stick or a fancy-looking something to stick into it.

And when she’s done, she holds it out in the center of her palm, to the tired bug before her. The woman takes it reluctantly, clearly moving fast so not to touch Cori for too long. She doesn’t take it personally.

“It will really work?” She asks, studying the rock. “Is this some form of magic?”

“It is,” Cori answers evenly. She wouldn’t rule out magic existing in this bizarre place. And aren’t lies another form of enchantment? She knows from documentaries and books and her own experiences back home that people can be convinced to believe almost anything. Why would that be any different in Hallownest, a kingdom of sentient bugs and illnesses rumored to travel in the unconscious mind?

“Thank you,” the bug lady suddenly blurts out, startling Cori. “Thank you....Talesinger. My child had no dreams last night, she slept soundly for the first time in....months. I never thought I’d see a cure for....this, in our town, but....” she swallows audibly. “Thank you.”

She’s speechless. Because she hasn’t done anything remarkable—and yet a child has yielded results. It could be a coincidence—the power of a mind that believes.

So Cori nods, the first words that come to mind spilling from her lips—

“Dream no more, then.”

She gives Cori a silent nod, and slips away through the ajar door as if she were never there, taking the token with her.

The next few days go the same way, the visits to her home increasing in frequency and bravery. First, it was a few fearful quiet insects who visited in the evenings and early mornings, as if they were embarrassed to be asking for such an outlandish form of help. Then, people begin to arrive in groups, sometimes even waiting on her doorstep when she arrives back to her house from her job.

They bring her things sometimes—small crystals, twisted hunks of bad metal, sticks with interesting shapes, and bits of shellwood and dried leaves. Cori gladly weaves them into her little gifts—which have somehow been named “tokens”.

When she goes out for her job, she sees rocks and crystals and sticks bound in threads hanging from stalls, in windows and tied to porch rails. It’s a little shocking. But she doesn’t say anything. The nickname “Talesinger” has pretty much become her name now.

And there’s no infection in her tiny little town at all. She’s heard that when the sickness takes root, it turns the eyes of its victims bright orange.

She’s also heard that the Talesinger is a witch, a weaver of magic who hails either from the City of Tears, or is an emissary of the Pale King himself. And from what she’s garnered, that’s the weird name of the king of Hallownest. She does her best to correct these rumors, but it doesn’t stop fervent bugs from speaking to her in worshipful tones and pressing geo or food into her hands.

Her fingers have become sore sometimes from doing such small tasks constantly, but now her stomach doesn’t grumble as much anymore. 

So she doesn’t complain. She tells the bugs who come to her that yes, her tokens ward against the infection. Yes, she will make one. And no, they needn’t pay her. Cori just lives her life, separate and awkward from the bugs around her. 

She’s not aware that the story of the Talesinger has trickled into the City of Tears, taking her tokens with it. She doesn’t know when word reaches a man in his tower high above.

Or when it reaches the king himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cori thinks this is weird, but she doesn’t know enough about bugs to dispute it.  
> She’s just vibing alone, which is p cool. Enjoy and leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my friends. I know it must seem like I have a lot of works going on right now, but OIWSTL is still my main focus. This, like Indigo and Blue, is just practice and for fun.  
> And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m obsessed with dimension travel and isekai genres, so the whole human-in-Hallownest concept has me frothing at the mouth.  
> This is inspired by BubbleBtch’s fic. Which presents an interesting concept: the power of belief having an effect on higher beings.
> 
> If you have any fics like this, please send me the title in the comments. I’m in dire need of reading material. In any case, enjoy and leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


End file.
